


those nights that you can't take back

by meggiewrites



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Affectionate Insults, Coming Out, Drunken Confessions, Established Friendship, FIFA World Cup 2014, Gay Male Character, Gen, Platonic Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-10-31 16:31:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17853158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meggiewrites/pseuds/meggiewrites
Summary: The night they achieve glory at the Maracanã is filled with laughter, alcohol and pure, unfiltered joy. For Manuel, it's also the night of coming clean. (Un)luckily for Kevin, he just happens to become Manuel's confidant.





	those nights that you can't take back

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Natteravn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Natteravn/gifts).



> This is a gift for my amazing friend Gard! Despite having certain notable differences *cough* ships *cough* we've become great friends – funnily enough, I've wanted to write this scene even before we met (it will also be referenced in my current WIP), but it seems like the idea was tailor-made for you! Thanks for acting as a beta too, especially considering well you know .... this IS for you XD
> 
> So uhh, have some platonic Neukreutz? (even if you younglings out there probably don't even know who Kevin is anymore ...) Title is from 'Back Home' by Andy Grammer. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Kevin is drunk. Obviously – so is everyone around him that isn’t a teetotaler. After all, you don't win a World Cup every day; but compared to most of his teammates, he's slightly dazed at most.

The air is warm and tastes slightly sour, like alcohol that has been standing out in the open too long, but it also smells like summer and rain and glory and sweat and … he giggles, steadying himself against the railing of the giant hotel porch. It's overlooking the beach, and the sky is already getting brighter.

Inside, his teammates, their staff and all their families are still dancing. Or rather, dangerously swaying with hardly any sense of balance left, but they're all still as rambunctious as five hours before. Sure, somewhere, Julian Draxler is asleep in a suitcase and Philipp Lahm is probably standing in a corner pinching his nose and wondering if he’ll even be able to catch some sleep before they board the flight back home, but still, Kevin is glad to be away from the noise for a while.

He smiles. Somewhere along the line, this ragtag band of idiots became a family. He will miss them, every single one – some more, some less, sure. But still. God. He shakes his head, feeling dizzy, lifting his bottle to his lips.

Beer stopped tasting good at about two in the morning, but it was the only drink he managed to get his hands on. No wonder everyone just keeps drinking and drinking.

It’s quiet, even if his head is still throbbing, and Kevin startles a bit when someone throws open the big French doors, stumbling out and almost falling over their feet three times before they finally reach the railing a few meters to Kevin's right.

He turns up his nose when the person throws up, even when it's hardly the first time he's seen that happen that night, but it's only when he squints that he recognizes the poor soul.

Neuer – _Manuel_ has become a, dare he say _good_ friend over the past few weeks, but seeing him in misery still manages to make Kevin grin just the slightest bit. Manuel’s chest heaves one last time before he wipes his mouth, letting his head flop onto his arms with a groan before squinting at Kevin, noticing him with a slight frown.

“Kev?”

Kevin chuckles as he approaches him.

“You alright there, big guy?”

Manuel groans. “Wish I was less sober right now.”

Kevin doubts that he is, really, but considering he saw him dance with a potted plant a bit earlier, it is arguably better than it could be – or worse, judging by Manuel’s pained expression and his pale complexion. Kevin pats his back, and their goalkeeper winces.

“Wanna sit down?”

Manuel nods, and Kevin has to steady him as they stagger over to one of the smaller lounge areas. The seats are slightly damp with dew, even in the heat of Brazil.

For a while, they just stare out at the pink horizon, from where the world is slowly fluttering with colour. At first, Kevin thinks Manuel will fall asleep, but then he sighs. Kevin doesn't pay him any attention, but when the goalkeeper does it again, he turns his head to look at him.

Manuel’s expression is unreadable.

“Everything alright?”

It feels weird, feeling concerned about Neuer of all people, but there’s this lost expression on his face and considering … yes, considering this should be the happiest night of their lives, the tall blond really doesn't look all that happy anymore.

Manuel shakes his head.

“Should I go get Kathrin?”

It’s the horrified look in his eyes that makes Kevin realize something is well and truly awry. Heck, he’s already mentally prepared himself to pat Manuel’s head for the next hour – but relationship counselor? That’s hardly a job he feels qualified to do, especially not in his still slightly inebriated state.

Nevertheless, he can’t deny that he's curious. So, Golden Boy’s life isn't as perfect as those high-gloss magazines want everyone to believe, huh.

“Did you cheat on her?”

Manuel looks at him and scoffs in disgust. “‘course not.”

“Did _she_ cheat on _you_?”

A deep, heavy sigh. “No one cheated, Großkreutz,” – Manuel gnaws at his lip – “but it’s just – it's been a bit rough lately.”

Kevin frowns. To him, the two of them had always seemed pretty happy. “What’s going on, then?”

Manuel hiccups, and rubs his nose. With horror, Kevin notices the tears brimming in his eyes. Lord knows he has no damn clue what to do with a crying Manuel Neuer. (A few years ago, his tears would even have brought him joy. As it is, he fights the strange urge to hug him.) Luckily, Manuel doesn’t actually start bawling his eyes out. Instead, he grits his teeth and continues talking.

“It’s just not fair on her.” Manuel’s voice is shaky, and he’s kneading his hands into his thighs, eyes lowered so that they don’t meet Kevin's. “She’s a great person, she deserves someone who actually loves her.”

“You ... don't love her anymore?”

Manuel laughs hollowly, and it's a bitter, resigned sound that makes a shudder run down Kevin’s spine with its hopelessness.

"Never have. Don't think I’m even able to. God, I really shouldn't be telling you this. Especially not _you_ of all people." He cracks a smile. "No offence."

Kevin snorts. "None taken." He rubs his hands over his face. Somehow, he feels more sober than he has in hours. "But – what do you mean? Do you want to take it from the start?"

For a moment, Manuel looks like he needs to throw up again, but he hesitates, then lifts his gaze up to watch the first sliver of sun rise from the sea.

His next words catch Kevin completely off guard.

“I think I’m gay.”

Wow, okay. _That’s_ definitely not what Kevin expected.

“Are you sure?”

To be fair, that’s not the most thought-through reply either.

“Am I sure? Am I sure that ever since I started picturing guys I enjoy jerking off a lot more? Sure that I’d rather do that than have sex with my girlfriend? Sure that if I could chose, I wouldn’t have sex with her or any woman at all, but that I definitely find the idea of being with a guy pretty hot? Yeah, Kevin, I think I’m sure.”

Well, fuck.

“Well, fuck.”

Manuel rubs a hand over his face, sighing. “Exactly.”

“What are you planning to do about it?”

That only prompts a dry chuckle. “Do about it? Not like I can do much. Believe me, I’ve tried to suppress this for as long as I possibly could. Fuck, I think I need to throw up again.”

He doesn’t, though, and Kevin shakes his head in dumbfounded astonishment. How thick can a person be – then again, they’re both still drunk, so maybe that’s why the idiot isn’t able to figure out what's the right thing to do.

“I meant about the Kathrin situation, dumbass. You can’t exactly pretend all is fine and dandy, can you?”

Although he suspects that’s exactly what Neuer has been doing so far, so he continues. “You said it yourself, she deserves someone who loves her. She also deserves that you're honest with her.”

Manuel pulls a face.

“She’ll break up with me.”

“Probably. No one likes to be just a glorified alibi. Especially if she _does_ love you.”

“She does. I’ve been such an ass to her lately but ...”

Kevin shakes his head, laughing quietly. “Dude, refusing to have sex with her because you get no pleasure out of it – especially when it’s neither her nor your fault – doesn’t make you an asshole; what does make you an asshole, however, is that you’ve kept from her _why_ you do it. You need to tell her – full stop.”

The words resonate loudly between them for a while, especially in the numb silence of the morning, only interrupted every now and then by a car driving past the street in front of them, and Kevin almost laughs when he realizes that he just called Manuel Neuer an asshole – a few years back, that would have earned him a couple months of passive-aggressiveness for sure. Now, Manuel just looks forlorn.

For a while, they just quietly stare out on the ocean, then Manuel sighs again.

“Thanks for the reality check. I needed that.”

“You’re welcome,” Kevin says. “Loser.”

For a second, he fears that he went too far, but then Manuel cracks a smile.

“Asshole!” He fidgets with the hem of his shirt for a moment before looking at Kevin again. “Um, and thanks for not being judgemental, I guess.”

Kevin waves him off. “We live in the 21rst century, Neuer. No one cares that you’re gay.”

Manuel snorts. “I'm pretty sure quite a few people would, especially in the football business.”

“I don’t.”

Another small grin appears on Manuel’s lips. “Thanks.”

Now, the silence is a comfortable one, and Kevin wonders, marvels at the fact that sitting here with _Neuer_ of all people feels normal, nice, and curiously, he finds himself hoping they stay in contact beyond this tournament, that their friendship wasn’t a fluke.

It’s Manuel who then hauls himself up with a groan, stretching his arms over his head. He yawns and shakes himself like a wet dog, then he sends Kevin a look.

“Should we go back inside? I really need another drink after this.”

Kevin lets out a surprised cackle, but he has to admit that he agrees. Even if it feels like almost nothing has changed, this conversation still managed to drain him in a way that makes his bones feel heavy, his vision blurry. (Or maybe that’s just the slow, currently unwanted process of completely sobering up.)

They walk back in side-by-side like old friends instead of former nemeses. It’s almost overwhelming when they push open the doors, everything is loud and intoxicating and for some reason, the air smells like freshly cooked bacon.

"So," Kevin begins as they stand there in the doorway, eyes sweeping over the room, "is there anyone on the team you've got your eyes on, then?"

Manuel groans, running his hand over his face.

“Someone you think is hot, your type?”

“Oh, fuck _off_ , Großkreutz!”

Kevin smirks. “That’s a yes, then?”

Manuel scoffs. “That’s a maybe. _Maybe_.”

But as Kevin watches him trail his eyes over the room until they get stuck on a particular group of people, on one of the guys in particular, he’s pretty sure that Manuel is lying.

Maybe, at the moment, even to himself.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I write FICTION about real people. None of this is intended to harm them or their reputation in any way. Please leave kudos and maybe a comment if you liked it! | [tumblr](http://manuelmueller.tumblr.com/)


End file.
